Terry Tempest Williams Quotes

From such a gentle thing, from such a fountain of all delight, my every pain is born.

After the loss of my sister - my darkest time - I tried to think of the beauty she'd brought to this world and the lives she had touched and the love she had left behind.

I found more joy in sorrow than you could find in joy.

Love is brief: forgetting lasts so long.

The people we love are usually stronger than we give them credit for. It is the nature of love, perhaps, to want to shoulder all the pain rather than see the loved one suffer. But sometimes pain is better than emptiness. I have been so empty Kit. All my life. So full of emptiness. That is strange paradox is nit not - full of emptiness?

We stood up and bade each other farewell, but love and despair stood between us like two ghosts, one stretching his wings with his fingers over our throats, one weeping and the other laughing hideously. As I took Selma's hand and put it to my lips, she came close to me and placed a kiss on my forehead, then dropped on the wooden bench. She shut her eyes and whispered softly, "Oh, Lord God, have mercy on me and mend my broken wings!

Oh, Jo, how could you? Your one beauty.

The casualities seemed to go on and on. Just when I thought I was done losing her, I would find yet another way to love her all over again.

The greater the love, the greater the tragedy when it's over.

The whole world can become the enemy when you lose what you love.

Suffering itself is beloved: love and suffering are far closer to each other than love and pleasure.

Bereavement is a darkness impenetrable to the imagination of the unbereaved

She wonders what fool ever said that it's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all - she has never disagreed with something so much.

Come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy, That one short minute gives me in her sight

We each die countless little deaths on our way to the last. We die out of shame as humiliation. We perish from despair. And, of course, we die for love.

For beauty with sorrow Is a burden hard to be borne: The evening light on the foam, and the swans, there; That music, remote, forlorn.

Small sorrows speak great ones are silent.

The happiest of pillows is not that which love first presses! it is that which death has frowned on and passed over.

Grief is the price Love pays for being in the same world with Death.

Sorrow, like rain makes roses and mud.

Only love can break a heart into so many pieces. -Risika(In The Forest Of The Night)

Each time we love,We turn a nearer and a broader markTo that keen archer, Sorrow, and he strikes.

There is in this world in which everything wears out, everything perishes, one thing that crumbles into dust, that destroys itself still more completely, leaving behind still fewer traces of itself than Beauty: namely Grief.

The joy of love is too short, and the sorrow thereof, and what cometh thereof, dureth over long.